


Dishes

by Alzubra



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, My First AO3 Post, Original Character(s), my first story on here!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-19 03:01:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29868141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alzubra/pseuds/Alzubra
Summary: Sometimes, just getting up in the morning is enough.
Kudos: 2





	Dishes

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is one of my first stories on here, and an original character study/drabble of mine that I just wanted to share <3\. I hope you guys like it! I'll probably post some other works of mine. Critique, kudos and comments are all welcome.

‘Do the dishes’

The neon green sticky note mocked him in black sharpie. It had been placed on Ezra’s nightstand lamp so it would be in his line of view when he’d wake up the next day. He had put it there so when he woke up that morning, he’d be reminded to wash the week’s worth of dishes piling up in the sink, and get it done as soon as he woke up.

That was an hour ago. It was 11am, the day slowly creeping into the afternoon, and Ezra had yet to even get up.

He rolled over on his back, staring at the peeling white ceiling. He felt trapped in his own bed, as if he was chained down by some invisible force. He felt like a heavy weight, impossible to move.

He knew he had to get up. There were dishes to do, garbage to take out and things to be done. He couldn’t let another day slip away like so many others had before. Get up, get up was a repeated mantra in his head, like the booming beats of a ceremonial drum. 

He used all the willpower his tired self could muster to sit up, bare back against the cold cracked wall. His head was like a cinder block balanced on his neck, thumping against the wall. ‘Okay, good,’ he thought as he closed his eyes, ‘I’m not just laying down. I’m up, that’s good.’ Now came the next obstacle: standing. 

He untangled himself from the fishermen’s nets of blankets, and swung his legs over the right side. The polar cold hit his warmed skin, making his hair prickle and body shiver. ‘Heat must be busted again,” he thought. He’d have to to fix it, another thing added to his growing list. 

He rocked forward so his feet could touch the floor, and stood. Joints popped and muscles pulled pleasantly as they were stretched for the first time in probably days, warmth blooming down his sore back. He stretched his arms over his head, and his body shook with the release of tension. His fingers flexed, reaching for the low trailer ceiling. It felt something divine to finally use his muscles for something more strenuous than rolling on his side. 

His heart warmed with pride at his triumph. In the days before, he had only risen from his bed to shamble off to the bathroom, not even eating. Now, he was finally getting up to actually do something, and maybe even make things a little better for himself. It was a small step to tending to the stubborn roots to his issues, but it was a step nonetheless. 

He let out a sigh and took a look around his room, a grimace creasing his face. This definitely wasn’t the worst it had ever been, but it was getting there: discarded shoes and dirty clothing lay scattered about the wooden floor like land mines. There were stacks of unfolded laundry from god knows how long ago standing tall next to books and other miscellaneous crap along the pale yellow walls, which could definitely use some fixing with how much the paint had peeled. 

‘At least I can see the floor’ he thought to himself. When the dishes were piling to the ceiling and trash hadn’t been taken out in a week, you had to look for the bright side, even if that bright side was just a somewhat visible floor. 

He made his way across the dim bedroom, navigating the cluttered room with an ease that came with years of living through depressive episodes that threatened to suffocate him each time they came to put his life on hold again. 

It hadn’t gotten much better over the years, but he was finding his own ways of adapting to it.

His first stop was the bathroom. He didn’t know how long he’d gone without a shower, but it was long enough that his skin had begun to itch from it. If he was going to start cleaning up the house, he was going to clean himself up first. 

Sunlight came through the bathroom window in shafts of gold, gleaming against the stained white tiles. He peeled off the sweat stained white tank top, dropping it on the toilet seat. The pajama pants went next, making a crumpled little pile. 

He pulled back the shower curtain and pushed down the little button on the faucet with a squeak. Usually when he had the energy to, he’d take a shower for efficiency and to save time. But maybe today he could do something different: a bath to soothe his tired bones and tense body. It could be a little treat for getting out of bed today. 

He turned the handle to just before scalding , and clambered in. He huddled up against the faucet, knees pulled to his chest and feet under the stream of hot water. He looked like he was trying to make himself as small as possible, long body curled forwards so his chin could rest on his knees. The knobs of his spine jutted out like the spines of some sea creature, reddening uncomfortably as he shifted against the porcelain of the tub. 

For a while, he just sat there, letting the water rise to his knees and with it, his anxiety. That initial pride and determination he had before began to crumble in the face of the absolute mess that was probably waiting for him. The house had already been falling apart before this but now? The kitchen was probably overrun with a new species of mold that thrived solely off the rotten food still stuck to those dishes. And that was just the kitchen, God only knows what the rest of the trailer looked like- 

He hissed as a stinging pain bloomed in his knee, and he looked down. He had picked a crater into the already scarred and marked skin of his leg, staining the pale skin as it streamed down his knee and rippled into the water like ink. He sighed, picking the scum and blood out from under his nails and splashing water against his knee. The wound pinkened under the warm water, raw and open but no longer bleeding. He hadn’t even felt himself picking until just then- another bad habit he needed to take care of. 

He laid his head against the tiles and rubbed his palms down his stubbly cheeks in exasperation. ‘’You can do this, Ezra,’’ he told himself, his voice bouncing across the wall back at him. ‘’You have to, you can’t let this shit run your life anymore. It’s going to kill you.’’

A pause stretched over the small bathroom, tense and heavy. For a while the only sounds was the subtle shifting of the water, and the chirruping birds outside. 

He finally broke the silence. ‘’You’re going to be okay, I promise.’’ 

It felt hollow, but he believed it, and held it close. He needed something to believe in, especially now, when he felt like he was drowning in his own home. 

Finally, after a good twenty minutes of silence, he began to wash himself methodically, starting with his hair. Suds filled the tub, and he almost felt like a little kid in a bubble bath again.

When he was done, he plucked his dark blue, scruffy robe off the hook and wrapped it around his skinny frame. 

What he saw in the bathroom mirror was a tired man. An angular face streaked with lines belonging to someone much older than his 29 years, and bruised with countless sleepless. It was a battlefield of his struggles, his victories, and his failures. He was still unsure if today would be a failure, or a rare victory. 

What he did know though, was that it was going to be okay. He wasn’t sure when, or how soon. But he knew that even if it took him upending his whole home, he was going to be okay. 

It was going to be okay.


End file.
